[ Geralt cups Jaskier face, running a thumb over his cheekbone. Confident indeed. He's tempted to do it, but it isn't impatience that gets him so much as a simple desire to want to see Jaskier enjoy himself. Plenty of room to annoy him later. ]
Another time. [ He pulls the last button loose, and then leaves it be, his trousers half-open. Maybe it's deliberate, maybe it isn't—but he's between Jaskier's legs soon enough. His hand wraps back around Jaskier. It's slow, steady, and eventually, he closes his lips around the length of him.
It is coming up soon, his trip. Within days. Sometimes he thinks about forgoing his long travels—he has people now, people who rely on him—but the truth is, these two weeks in Cadens alone have made him restless out of his fucking mind. He isn't made for it. He isn't. It's different to winter in Kaer Morhen, where he trains, runs the Killer, hunts for dinner, repairs the walls and cleans and keeps certain troublemakers amongst his brothers in line. The city offers what he needs for easy purchase; their home is not difficult to maintain. Rinwell looks after Roach, takes care of most meals. Advancements and magic make quick the tasks that once took effort, like hauling water or preserving food. There's so much empty time, time he hasn't any idea how to fill without a sword in his hands and a trail to pursue.
Some of that restlessness comes out now, in the way he takes Jaskier in his mouth and grips his hip, intent on drawing out the noises he knows Jaskier likes to make. The ones he knows he can drag out of him, because he's done it before. Several times. ]
no subject
Another time. [ He pulls the last button loose, and then leaves it be, his trousers half-open. Maybe it's deliberate, maybe it isn't—but he's between Jaskier's legs soon enough. His hand wraps back around Jaskier. It's slow, steady, and eventually, he closes his lips around the length of him.
It is coming up soon, his trip. Within days. Sometimes he thinks about forgoing his long travels—he has people now, people who rely on him—but the truth is, these two weeks in Cadens alone have made him restless out of his fucking mind. He isn't made for it. He isn't. It's different to winter in Kaer Morhen, where he trains, runs the Killer, hunts for dinner, repairs the walls and cleans and keeps certain troublemakers amongst his brothers in line. The city offers what he needs for easy purchase; their home is not difficult to maintain. Rinwell looks after Roach, takes care of most meals. Advancements and magic make quick the tasks that once took effort, like hauling water or preserving food. There's so much empty time, time he hasn't any idea how to fill without a sword in his hands and a trail to pursue.
Some of that restlessness comes out now, in the way he takes Jaskier in his mouth and grips his hip, intent on drawing out the noises he knows Jaskier likes to make. The ones he knows he can drag out of him, because he's done it before. Several times. ]